


This Could Be Good

by BJ_Allen



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJ_Allen/pseuds/BJ_Allen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waverly and Wynonna get a new neighbor, and Dolls gets a new roommate. There are shenannigans and adventures while Waverly figures out how this woman will fit into her life. </p>
<p>or</p>
<p>A Wayhaught College AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> So this started as a one-shot, and then a two-shot, and now it's the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic. My current plan is for five chapters, but don't hold me to it. 
> 
> I'm posting new scenes for this fic every Friday on my tumblr (handle: missizzybeth), and once I have all the scenes of a chapter done I'll post them here. 
> 
> The title comes from the song "She Keeps Me Warm" by Mary Lambert. 
> 
> Many thanks to sensitive_pigeon for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

When Waverly got home from class, it was to see a U-Haul parked in front of her townhouse complex.

“Hey,” she said when she opened her front door. “Did Dolls finally find a new roommate?”

Wynonna peered up at her from the couch and shrugged. “I guess,” she said.

“What do you mean, you guess?” Waverly crossed to the coat rack and hung up her messenger bag. “Did he say anything at work today?”

She could practically hear Wynonna rolling her eyes when she said, “Oh, yeah, because he’s such a talker.”

Waverly sighed at her sister, but she couldn’t help the little smile or small bounce when she sat on the sofa. “Think he’ll be cute?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wynonna said. She pointed the Wii remote at the TV and began scrolling through Netflix. “We’re done sleeping with neighbor boys.”

Waverly scoffed. “We? Why we? That’s your bed to lie in. I can sleep with whoever I want.” She leaned back and considered. “Maybe I’ll make them cookies. That’s neighborly.”

Wynonna ignored her. On the TV, the cursor hovered over Fringe. “Wanna watch the next episode?”

“Nope.” Waverly sprung up and grabbed her messenger bag on her way to the stairs. “Homework, then TV, with a possible break for baking.”

“Try saying that five times fast,” she heard Wynonna mutter before she made it to the second floor. She pushed open her bedroom door and dropped the bag next to her desk. She sighed– the top floor of their townhouse was always warmer than the bottom floor, and this close to summer it still mattered– and pulled her shirt off over her head. She dropped it onto the pile of dirty clothes and looked around her floor, hoping to find the cute crop top she’d worn this weekend. Instead, movement out her window caught her eye, and she looked up and locked eyes with a red-head in the next townhouse over. Which was now rented out. So of course there was someone in it.  _ Shit _ .

The red-head’s eyebrows were creeping up forehead, and she was smirking. Waverly squeaked and ducked down, grabbing her shirt and clutching it to her chest. She could see the girl was laughing, and she gave a small wave which Waverly acknowledged with a sort of spastic hand motion, then fell into a sitting position where she would no longer be visible. 

“What was that?” Wynonna called up. Waverly saw the crop top peeking out from under her pajama shorts, and she grumbled at it while she grabbed it and crawled from her bedroom to the top of the stairs.

“Well,” she said, her voice amplified by the empty stairway, “It officially no longer matters if the new neighbor is cute because he’s got a smoking hot girlfriend. And I just flashed her.”

She heard scrambling, and Wynonna appeared on the landing. “You what now?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Waverly said, pulling on the shirt. “I just… forgot.”

“Forgot.” Wynonna was laughing now. “About the new neighbor. That we were just talking about.”

“Yeah, ha ha, shut up,” Waverly said, standing and coming down the stairs. “This calls for emergency action. No time for baking.” She crossed to the kitchen and pulled a paper plate from one cupboard and a package of Oreos from another.

“Oh, come on,” Wynonna said. “Why do the Oreos need to be sacrificed?”

“Emergency,” Waverly said, shaking what remained of the cookies onto the plate.

“Fine.” Wynonna leaned against the counter, pouting, but when Waverly turned to throw away the empty Oreo package she grabbed a handful of cookies and ran for the living room.

“You are so childish,” Waverly called after her as she scooped up the plate and walking around the island, heading through the combined living/dining room and out the front door. She walked the ten feet from her porch to the porch across the path, paused for a moment to gather herself, and knocked.

Of course, the gorgeous red-head opened the door. Waverly felt her face warm, but she found a smile and said, “Hi. Sorry about earlier.”

Red-head leaned against the doorframe, a small grin slipping onto her face. “That’s alright. It happens.” She looked meaningfully at Waverly’s hands, and she followed her gaze to the plate.

“Right, here you go,” she said, offering it. “I’m Waverly. I live just across here with my sister.” She gestured behind her.

“Nicole,” the red-head said and offered her hand, which Waverly took. “I had no idea when I moved in that I’d have such a pretty view.” Her smile grew, and… was that flirting? That felt like flirting. Waverly’s hand fell to her side.

“Oh, you,” she pointed at Nicole, “You’re the new roommate.” Nicole’s expression dimmed, and her brows drew together in confusion. “Of course you are. That’s great. Okay, so, um.” Waverly backed away while she talked and almost stepped off the little concrete porch. “It was great meeting you, I’ll see you around, I’m just gonna…” And now she was stumbling onto her own porch, waving and smiling as she clutched the doorknob and stepped into her front room. Once the door was closed, she groaned and slid down its length.

“That good, huh?” Wynonna asked. Waverly threw a flip flop at her, then dragged herself off the floor to go upstairs and do her homework… and maybe, indefinitely, close her curtains.

* * *

 

Waverly always ended up working trivia night at Shorty’s, and it was always chaotic. Most nights, she appreciated it. The crowd brought in good tips and it was fun to sneak answers to Wynonna and Dolls when she had a minute. She appreciated it tonight right up until she saw her sister coming in the door, trailing not one, but two of their neighbors. Wynonna waved when she saw her, so of course Dolls and Nicole looked her way, and Waverly turned before she could see their reactions. Or maybe before they could see her reaction? But she was only blushing because this room was stupid hot, as crowded as it was. Duh.

They took their usual seats at the bar, sticking Nicole on the end next to Wynonna. Waverly snagged an answer sheet and pen on her way back to the bar and dropped them in front of Wynonna before she asked for their drink orders. Dolls and Wynonna were easy and predictable– cola and 7&7, respectively– but then she got to Nicole and fumbled her order pad. Nicole was smiling at her, or had been until she realized that Waverly was looking. Now she was obviously surpressing laughter and Waverly’s face warmed.  _ I should really grab the fan from the back room _ , she thought even as she smiled and nodded at Nicole’s order. This was the thought she focused on while she poured the drinks, because the heat of the crowded room was the reason behind all her weird reactions. It had nothing to do with Nicole or her stupid face or any of the stupid expressions it may be having. 

“Here you go,” she said, putting the appropriate drinks in front of the appropriate people and then turning to check the IDs of a few newcomers. As she looked at the card for the DOB, she faintly heard Wynonna say, “Hey, didn’t you ask for a stout?” 

“Nope,” Nicole said. “I definitely asked for… this.”  

“Mhm. And what is this, exactly?” . 

“Delicious. Don’t be jealous. Now how does this work again?” When Waverly handed the ID’s back and glanced over her shoulder, Nicole was staring intently at the answer sheet and sipping a pint of the light blonde beer (as opposed to the dark stout that she definitely had ordered). Even as Waverly’s insides twisted with the mistake, she felt a smile turning up her mouth. The feeling faded fast, though, because more drinks needed to be served and tables needed to be cleared and  _ focus, Waverly _ .

She didn’t have much time to stop by their team after that, only managing one or two whispered answers as she rushed from one end of the bar to the next. When she heard the next question, though, Waverly couldn’t help herself. “In the popular series Harry Potter, what does the phase  _ Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus _ mean,” Shorty asked over the microphone. She dropped the pints on a table, apologizing over her shoulder when one of them sloshed a bit.

“I’m telling you,” Wynonna was saying as she approached, “It has something to do with that little ferrety dude.”

“I still can’t believe that scene is all you took from the movies,” Waverly said, making grabby hands for the answer sheet and, when given the paper and pen, writing, “Never tickle a sleeping dragon.”

“Thank you,” Wynonna said, taking the paper back and flipping it right side up. Nicole read it over her shoulder. She nodded, looking impressed.

“So, deep-seated love for Harry Potter, or dead languages?” she asked.

Waverly raised her eyebrows, and she found herself leaning on the bar, closer to Nicole, when she said, “Couldn’t it be both?”

Nicole sat back and raised her hands a bit, smirking. When she dropped her fingers back to the bar, she said, “Sexy and smart, huh?”

Waverly froze for a second. They were back to flirting, and she could feel the banter rising naturally. But that would be flirting back, which was wrong, which was leading Nicole on… wasn’t it? 

She couldn’t handle those questions right now. She pushed herself into proper standing and busied herself with clearing glasses. She was too distracted to see Nicole sit back, to see her smirk relax into a more gentle smile, or to see the look that Dolls shot her over Wynonna’s shoulder as Wynonna studied the answers they had so far.

Waverly found herself too busy the rest of the night to contribute to their team, but somehow she managed time to sneak frequent glances in their direction. 

* * *

 

For the rest of the week, Waverly managed to avoid seeing Nicole, even in passing. She had prepared herself in case they crossed paths to or from their front doors: she would stick with a polite smile, maybe a civil head-nod. Nicole seemed like she might be cool, and part of Waverly was buzzing with New Person Energy, but most of her was shying away from the new and complicated and uncomfortable questions Nicole was raising. And for now, she was willing to take the lead from that part of herself.

Plus, it wasn’t like her life wasn’t already busy, even without adding another person to the mix. Her third year of college was shaping up to be the busiest yet, with her minor upgrading to a major and a load of upper-division classes to spice things up. It was the first weekend of term, and already she had to analyze Chaucer’s  _ Parlement of Foules _ in its original English, translate part of a Greek manuscript, and summarize an article on Sumerian-Ural-Altaic affinities. Add her shifts at Shorty’s to that, and she barely had time to maintain the social life she already had.

The combination of these factors led to her rolling out of bed late Saturday morning and into her desk chair. She knew she could make good headway on the article before she really had to do anything for the day, and there was still a nice breeze coming from the open window behind her drawn shades. She would probably have to retreat downstairs later to escape the heat, but for now her desk was a comfortable workspace.

She didn’t notice the music drifting in through her window with the breeze until she was over halfway through with the paper and the summary was all but written in her head. She stopped reading to jot down a note when the opening notes of a song caught her attention. 

She smiled instinctively, and without thinking said, “Oh, I love this song.” In the seconds after her proclamation, she realized the likely source of the music (unless Dolls had his window open and was listening to Christina Perri, which would be cool but unlikely). She felt her stomach squirm and her face heat up, but then the volume of the music increased and the quality cleared up, almost as if the speakers were being intentionally pointed her way. Her embarrassment calmed and her smile grew. She eased her curtains up enough that she could see Nicole carefully adjusting a portable speaker on her windowsill. She noticed Waverly and smiled. Waverly raised her hand, returning the smile before settling back in at her desk. She hummed along with the song until it ended, but even then she found it difficult to focus on the rest of the article. After reading the same paragraph too many times, she opened her laptop with the intent to start her summary. She started her opening-computer-habit, checking her email and Facebook notifications. One of the first posts on her timeline was from Dolls, encouraging his friends to attend a martial arts expo this weekend. An idea blossomed in her head, and before Waverly could doubt herself she clicked into Dolls’ profile, found his friends list, and started scanning it. It barely took her a minute to find a profile picture featuring a familiar red-head next to the name Nicole Haught. She carefully modulated her voice when she laughed and said, “Of course,” and with an excited thrill she clicked “Add Friend.” She immediately minimized the window and opened a Word document, because she was going to get this homework done and she was going to focus, goddamit. It absolutely did not matter if she got a response from--

A notification dinged from her web browser. 

She jumped a little, then glanced at her window shades before opening Facebook again. A notification read, “Nicole Haught has accepted your friend request.” She grinned and leaned back in her chair, parting the shades just enough to see through. Nicole appeared to be sitting on her bed, pulling clothes out of a box. But from her vantage point, Waverly was definitely able to see a smirk turning up the corners of her mouth.

* * *

 

Okay, so Waverly had never actually planned on keeping her curtains closed forever, but the longer they stayed down the more it seemed like opening them again would be Significant. And if she was sure of anything, it was that she was not ready for any significant gestures involving Nicole Haught.

It ended up being Wynonna’s fault when it finally happened. She had insisted that  _ Scream _ was “hilarious, it’s not even scary at all, even the scenes that are supposed to be scary are funny,” and “it’s a classic, Waves, you have to see it.” And apparently they had to watch it after it was completely dark and with all the lights off. Wynonna had been partially right, at least; there were moments that Waverly couldn’t help but laugh. The humor couldn’t outweigh the horror for her, though, and it resulted in her firmly nested in the corner of her bed with her lights on while Wynonna slept soundly in the next room over. 

And now she was getting frustrated, because it was late and she was tired, and she knew there wasn’t a knife-wielding psychopath in their house. Rationally, she knew that. Unfortunately, it was late and she was tired, and she felt like she was the only person awake in the whole world, and she just wasn’t able to listen to her rational mind anymore. 

She heard something outside her window, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder, even though she knew it was just her neighbors walking to their door. She also knew that, on the second floor, it didn’t matter that her window was open, but she suddenly couldn’t get the idea that she needed to close it out of her head. She edged towards the end of her bed, keeping her back towards the wall, and pulled up her blinds. She closed the window, and while she was latching it she noticed that there was a dim light coming from across the way. Nicole’s back was to the window, but she was sitting up in her bed, maybe reading or on her computer. She shifted a little, and Waverly felt some of her tension ease.  _ You’re not alone _ , her rational mind said, and it finally started sinking in.  _ You’re safe. It’s okay. _

She pulled her pillows and blankets around herself and curled up next to the window. She still kept her back to the wall and an eye on the door, and she definitely didn’t plan on turning her light off, but she was also able to relax enough that her head actually sank into her pillow rather than hovered over it. The only thing she could really hear was her breathing, so she focused on it. She didn’t know exactly when her eyes closed, but when she realized they had she dragged them open and checked the room, just to be sure. Then she let them slide closed, and her exhaustion was finally able to pull her into sleep.

* * *

 

It only took her a couple of days to regret opening her blinds. She was having a hell of a time focusing on her latest article for Sumerian History and Culture. She’d given up on the concept of reading it at her desk and instead she was sprawled across her bed, the article propped up in front of her. 

Part of the problem was that she would have streaks of productivity, when she’d get a whole page done without noticing. It was as soon as she realized that she’d done it (usually when she had to turn the page) that the spell would be broken. She would congratulate herself, mentally pat herself on the back, but by that point she’d distanced herself enough from the paper that distractions were able to sneak in. She’d start the next page, but the words wouldn’t come together as quickly as they had before, and she’d end up re-reading the same sentence to make sure she understood. She’d start idly thinking about what she would do once she was finished, and those thoughts would go from hopeful, excited, I’ve-got-this-shit to dreading, panicky, why-is-this-taking-so-long and when-will-it-be-over. She would fight through it until she got lost in the reading again, and the cycle repeated itself. It was like falling asleep; it would only work as long as she didn’t think about it. 

She was in the middle of an unfocused moment, and she absently raised her head and looked around, hoping for a distraction. 

What she didn’t expect was to look out her window and find a pair of eyes staring into her soul. 

She squeaked and sat bolt upright. She was closer to the edge of the bed than she’d realized, so she ended up falling off into an undignified heap onto the floor. 

“What the hell?” she heard Wynonna yell, and then her sister was barging into her room. “Are you okay?” 

Waverly’s face was blazing. “I’m fine,” she muttered, crawling back onto her bed. 

She tried to leave it at that, but Wynonna was staying in her doorway, her body language screaming  _ Well…? _

“If you must know,” Waverly said, grabbing her article and straightening it out. “I was startled.” Wynonna still didn’t move. “By the neighbor’s cat.” 

Wynonna took a couple steps into the room so she could see the cat sitting in Nicole’s window. The cat that hadn’t even twitched at Waverly’s reaction, and was still staring intently at her. “Oh yeah, Nicole mentioned she had a cat. Cute fuzzball. Apparently she doesn’t like Dolls.” She laughed and left the room, throwing a “Smooth move,” over her shoulder on her way. Waverly stared at her article for a minute, making it through about one sentence, before she peeked out the window. The cat was now curled up in a sun-lit patch of the windowsill, and she really was a cute little fuzzball. Waverly had never had a pet before… she couldn't help wondering if maybe someday she could play with Nicole’s. 


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly and Nicole move past "existing near each other," and towards "getting to know each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for Minor Character Death and Waverly Being Sad.
> 
> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

Waverly was on the bus when her Aunt Gus called. It had been a good day. She’d only had one class, and with no other imminent obligations she’d gotten lunch with some friends before making her way home. The music playing through her headphones was interrupted by the beat of her ringtone, and it was with a smile that she saw her aunt’s picture and swiped to answer. 

“Hey,” she said, holding the headphone’s mic closer to her face. 

There was a pause, then her aunt said, “Hi. How’s your day going?” Her voice sounded odd, strained, and Waverly frowned. 

“On my way home,” she said. “What’s up?” Aunt Gus took a breath, and there was a catch in it. Waverly’s frown deepened. 

“I’ve got some bad news sweetie, but I’d rather wait and tell you when you got home.” 

“I’m almost there,” Waverly said. She reached up to tug on the stop cable. The next stop wasn’t actually hers, but she could walk the extra couple of blocks. “Here, I’m getting off the bus now.” She gathered her things and moved to stand near the bus door. She was the only one getting off here, so she didn’t have to fight when the doors opened and she stepped out. The door closed and the bus moved on, and Waverly felt a distant pang of guilt when she realized she’d forgotten to thank the driver. 

“Okay, I’m off the bus,” she said, starting towards home. “What happened? Is everyone alright?” When she got another shaky breath instead of immediate assurance, Waverly’s insides clenched. 

“Sweetie,” Aunt Gus said, and Waverly could hear the tears in her voice. “Your Uncle Curtis passed away last night.” Waverly’s feet stopped. She stood on the street corner and stared blankly ahead. She’d known something was coming, something like this, but she’d thought maybe it would be a family friend or distant relative. Someone old or sick. 

A horn honked, and Waverly started. There was a car at the intersection, and the driver was gesturing for her to cross. She waved a vague thanks, then ducked her head and jogged to the next corner. 

“Waverly,” her aunt said. “Are you--,” 

“But how? What happened?” Waverly interrupted, and she was surprised that her voice was so calm. No, not calm. Still. Still was different than calm. Calm was an emotion. Still was a lack of it. 

Waverly could sense how hard her aunt was working to keep herself together. The tension of it rode with her words through the phone. “It was a heart attack, in his sleep. He just--,” her voice broke, but she pushed on, “didn’t wake up.” 

“But he wasn’t…” Waverly stopped herself when her voice started creeping higher, betraying her own strain. She cleared her throat and said, “He wasn’t sick.” 

“Not that we knew of. Sometimes these things, they just happen.” 

Waverly nodded, even though she knew her aunt couldn’t see it. Her mind reached around, trying to find the next words to say. They landed on, “Is there anything I can do?” 

Her aunt gave a watery chuckle. “You’re a good kid, you know that?” Waverly didn’t have anything to say to that, and anyway her aunt was already going on. “Nedley gave me the number for the morgue, so I need to call them and start making arrangements. Could you tell your sister?” 

“Yeah sure,” Waverly said. “Just let me know, okay?” 

“‘Course, sweetie. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” The line went quiet, and then a string of beeps told her that Aunt Gus had hung up. She could see her house now, could see Wynonna’s car parked streetside. She’d given Waverly their parking space in the back lot. Waverly was never sure why. 

She could feel her breath coming more quickly, but she wanted to get home before she broke down. But she also didn’t want to get home, because Wynonna was probably home, and she didn’t want to have that conversation. She didn’t want to be the one to tell Wynonna that their uncle was…

She got to the front porch and stood there, looking around for anything to do other than go into the house. Her eyes caught on a scuff mark along one of the porch’s supports. It had been there since she and Wynonna had moved in, when Uncle Curtis had sworn that he could haul in Waverly’s dresser all by himself. He’d almost made it through the front door, but he’d misgauged how wide his load was and while he was turning he caught the corner of the dresser against the support. It was a tiny little mark, but no matter how much Waverly had scrubbed at it, it never went away. 

Waverly looked at that mark until she couldn’t see it anymore through the film of tears. She tried to control herself, but every breath she took was hitching against the thing trying to push itself out of her chest, and with a choked sob she gave in. She brought one hand up to cover her face and use the other to lower herself onto the step, curling her legs up until they were helping to hold her chest together. The tears flooded her face, but only broken little sounds were able to escape her. That was her control right now. She could cry, but she would not wail. Not yet. 

She heard the door across the way opening, and she tried to uncrumple her face, to straightening it out and return it to some semblance of normalcy. She wiped her hand over her face and glanced up. Nicole was peering out of their open door. Waverly tried to smile and wave, but it hurt her face so she stopped and turned her head away instead. She heard the door close, then steps coming closer. 

Nicole’s voice was quiet and right next to Waverly when she spoke. “Hey, you okay?” Waverly tried again to school her expression, aiming for neutral this time if happy wasn’t possible. She turned back and nodded a couple of times, but somehow making eye contact with Nicole forced another sob through her rigid expression. She shook her head and buried her face in her crossed arms, tucking them behind her knees. 

“Hey, hey,” Nicole said, still quiet. Waverly felt a light touch on her back, and after a moment the pressure increased until Nicole was gently rubbing her back. Waverly felt herself leaning into the touch and losing herself for a few minutes in the combined rhythm of the circles and her tears. 

When she was able to take consecutive breaths without anything feeling stuck, Waverly raised her head and wiped away her tears. They had slowed to a trickle, and though they hadn’t stopped, it was an improvement. Nicole was kneeling beside her, providing a barrier between Waverly and the pathway between the townhouses. 

She cleared her throat, and met Nicole’s eyes for just a second before looking at her shoulder instead. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to--” 

“Hush,” Nicole said. “Can I help?” 

Waverly shook her head. “My uncle died.” Her voice hiccupped over the last word. “And now I have to go inside and I have to tell Wynonna, and I…” Her breathing was becoming harsh again, and she cupped one hand over her mouth in an attempt to silence it. 

Nicole’s hand was moving over her back again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, Wynonna’s not inside.” Waverly frowned and looked up, hoping Nicole wouldn’t need her to voice the question she wanted to ask. 

She didn’t. “She carpooled with Dolls to work this morning. They’re doing a bunch of intro classes, and Dolls wanted all of his instructors there.” 

Waverly nodded. Her breathing was evening out, and the tears had stopped. She could still feel the roiling emotions coursing through her, but they were no longer demanding to escape. She knew they would again, but later. 

Nicole’s hand slowed, then dropped to her side. “Do you want me to call her?” she asked. 

Waverly looked at her incredulously. “You have her number?”

Nicole just nodded, and when she didn’t offer any explanation, Waverly said, “Okay,” and accepted it. “But no. That’s okay. Thank you.” 

Nicole smiled, then pushed herself up and offered a hand to Waverly. When they were both standing, Nicole said, “Is there anything else…” 

Waverly wrapped both hands around the strap of her messenger bag and felt her shoulders raise a little. “Do you want to come in and watch something?” she asked, and immediately added, “I mean, if you’re not busy or anything. No pressure. I just… don’t want to be alone right now.” 

Nicole was already nodding. “I’d love to. What are we watching?”

Waverly turned and fished her keys out of her bag. “I dunno… maybe happy Doctor Who reruns?” 

“Sure,” Nicole said, leaning against the wall while Waverly unlocked the door. “I’ve never seen Doctor Who before. I’ve heard it’s good.” 

Waverly looked at her with wide eyes, then shook her head and pushed open the door. She hung her bag on the coatrack, and an energy that she hadn’t realized had fled her started seeping back. “Okay, we’re starting from season one. It takes a few episodes, and the pilot is absolutely laughable, but you’ll get hooked I swear.” She turned to find Nicole on the couch, her feet tucked up under her. 

“Sounds good,” she said. Waverly smiled, and this time the expression felt comfortable on her face. 

While they watched, Waverly found herself crying now and again, but it was always manageable crying. When it would happen Nicole would extend a foot until it rested against Waverly’s leg, but otherwise her focus remained on the Doctor and Rose. It may not have been the most ideal way to hang out for the first time, but Waverly was glad that Nicole was there.

* * *

 

Though she thought that she might have a legitimate reason to skip classes the next day, Waverly dragged herself out of bed at seven anyway. She was functioning on a restless night’s sleep, but once the sun was up she knew she had even less of a chance at getting some shut eye. Plus, she didn’t want to just sit at home and think. Classes were a distraction. Distractions were good. 

Of course, that didn’t mean she paid much attention in said classes. She’d done the appropriate readings, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember how any of her notes translated into viable discussion topics. She mostly just nodded along and tried to look focused. The professor in her 8AM lecture let her slide by, but the one in her 10AM discussion looked concerned. Waverly ducked out of the classroom as soon as the discussion was over to avoid coming up with any excuses. She didn’t want to talk about anything yet. She could email them later, let all of her profs know why she was a little spacey. They would understand. Normally they refused to call on her, wanting to let her classmates have a chance. Really, she was being a good sport. Yeah, she was going to run with that.

And now she had to go home and eat and change and get ready for work, and she was just so tired. Maybe a nap before work would be okay. Maybe she could talk Shorty into closing for her and letting her leave early. 

Okay, it was a plan. Bus, home, food, change, nap, work. Talk to Shorty when she got there. But no, she wasn’t actually hungry yet, and it would be best to eat just before work anyway. So change and nap, then food and work. She held onto this list with all her brainpower as she waited for, then boarded the bus. She turned it around, looked for any holes, and by the time she walked through her front door she’d already visualized all the steps she’d have to take to execute her plan. 

She went through the motions of pulling on her Shorty’s shirt with her focus almost entirely on her bed in the corner. With every minute her exhaustion grew until she was finally falling onto the pillowtop. Somehow, her bed that had felt nothing but uncomfortable last night was now soft and warm and wonderful. She felt herself deflating, sinking into the mattress. It only took a few minutes for her thoughts to start falling apart in the way that meant sleep was close, and for the first time that day she felt at peace.

 

 

The first thing she noticed was that she was warm. Everything about her, from the soft blanket wrapped around her to the orange light filtering through her eyelids…

Wait, orange?

Before her eyes were even fully open, Waverly was scrabbling at her bedside table, surprised when she didn't find her phone there. That was where her phone lived when she was sleeping. But of course, not when she was taking a nap and forgot to put it there. She rolled from the bed to the floor, grabbing at her bag until she found her phone and lit up the screen. It read 7:34. 

“Shit!” she said, and she kept saying it as she jerked her keys from the bag and stumbled to her feet and out her bedroom door. At the bottom of the steps she saw Wynonna sitting at the table with Dolls and Nicole, Phase 10 cards and glasses of alcohol littering the table. 

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Waverly asked, crossing to the door and shoving one foot into a shoe. 

“I called Shorty,” Wynonna said in response. “Told him what was up. He says you've got the night off.”

“Oh.” Waverly stilled, with one shoe still halfway on. “Okay. Um, thanks.” As her sense of urgency fled, Waverly slumped against the door. She took a few deep breaths to ground herself, and noticed an aroma that she'd missed before. Around the same time, she realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast. 

She looked at Wynonna in surprise. “You cooked?” 

Wynonna spent a second trying to look offended at Waverly’s obvious incredulity, but she couldn't hold the expression. “Nicole did,” she said. “Turns out she's quite the master chef.” 

“I wouldn't go that far,” Nicole said, her eyes downcast. When Waverly saw the wok, saucepan, and baking sheet, though, she whistled. 

“I think I just might,” she said. 

Nicole looked up and grinned. “Well, help yourself,” she said, and Waverly didn't have to be told twice. 

“I didn't even know you could homemake this stuff,” she said while she dished the stir fry onto her plate and spooned sauce over the pile. “I thought they could only come from Chinese restaurants and the freezer section.” Waverly immediately felt stupid for saying it. She knew, of course, that the food could be made at home. There was an entire culture that made this sort of food at home all the time. It was just that no one that she knew ate stir fry or orange chicken or egg rolls at home unless takeout was involved, but that was stupid and possibly culturally insensitive and  _ shit _ ...

“To be fair,” Nicole said, either unaware of or ignoring Waverly’s distress, “some of the vegetables did come from the freezer section. And so did the egg rolls.” 

Waverly took a deep breath, then smiled. “Whatever,” she said. “It's hot, it smells amazing, I'm happy.” 

Still standing at the counter, Waverly took a bite. She meant to sigh at the taste, but what came out instead was a hum of appreciation (it most certainly was not a moan). She blushed, though, and Nicole looked more pleased with her creation than she had before. After a second, Waverly figured she deserved to be smug, and she took another bite. It really was delicious. 

Waverly considered returning back upstairs (she wasn't sure if she could people right now), but then Wynonna finished dealing the next hand and pushed a pile of cards in her direction. 

“Come on,” she said. “Dolls is still on phase three. You can start there.” And Waverly found herself smiling as she took her plate to the table and started sorting her cards.

* * *

 

The funeral was that weekend. Since Wynonna and Waverly were only a few hours away (and they would be the only out-of-town attendees), there wasn't any reason to put it off. So Shorty gave her Saturday evening off, and early that morning she stumbled out of her own bed and into Wynonna’s room. 

“Wake up,” she called from the doorway, but the words did nothing to stir her sister. She reached down and picked up a few pieces of laundry, balling them up and throwing them at Wynonna one at a time. 

When the third shirt hit, Wynonna finally woke. Her arms flailed and feet scrabbled at the blankets, pushing herself into a halfway seated position. She groaned and slouched back against the wall, glaring at Waverly as fiercely as her sleep-bleary eyes could manage. 

“Why?” she croaked, and even if the question didn’t entirely make sense, Waverly knew it was all she would get until she had provided her sister with either coffee or whisky. Possibly both. 

“We’re leaving in an hour. You should get ready.” With that, Waverly made her way back to her own room and, after a quick glance to confirm that the curtains were closed, she started pulling on a high-necked black dress. She would check on Wynonna again soon, just to make sure she’d actually gotten out of bed, but that was as much caretaking as Waverly could worry about just now. She felt bad, but Wynonna was naturally self-sufficient. If she could pull her head out of the whisky bottle for long enough to make it through the funeral, they would be fine. They would fall back into their routine, and (somehow, miraculously) life would go on. They just had to make it through the funeral. 

Once the dress was settled over her body, Waverly opened the curtains. She could use some light this morning (and maybe she wouldn’t mind seeing a friendly face either). The window across the way lacked any faces, friendly or otherwise, but there was a whiteboard propped up against the glass that hadn’t been there before. There was a message written in long, angular letters that read, “It’s so hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs, since they take things literally.” 

Waverly read through the message once, then twice, before laughter escaped her. 

“That is a ridiculous joke,” she said to the window. “And you should be ashamed of yourself.” But she started looking around her room for a means of response. Her eyes landed briefly on her own whiteboard, but it was half-corkboard and also firmly attached to her wall, so it was a no-go. A stroke of inspiration hit, and she ducked back into Wynonna’s room. 

To her surprise, Wynonna hadn’t fallen back to sleep. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, glaring at the slacks and t-shirt she planned to wear as if she found their monochrome existence offensive. 

“Can I… ah. Yes.” Waverly ducked down and grabbed the whiteboard propped against the wall instead of finishing her question. She turned and made a run for it. 

“Hey, what the hell?” Wynonna yelled.

“Sorry,” Waverly called from her own room, opening a desk drawer and retrieving a red marker. “I need to borrow it.” 

Wynonna stumbled into her room, still sans proper clothes, and narrowed her eyes at the whiteboard as Waverly wrote in careful, round letters, “A Roman goes into a bar, holds up two fingers, and says he’ll have five drinks.” She looks like she’s on the brink of asking  _ what the hell  _ again, but when Waverly props the board into the window and points to Nicole’s original message, Wynonna’s confused expression clears into begrudging amusement. 

“Dorks,” she says, shaking her head and returning to her own room. 

“Forty-five minutes,” Waverly calls back, heading down stairs. “Do you want any breakfast?”

Wynonna’s disgusted, “Ugh, no,” echos down to her, and she shrugs and pours herself a bowl of frosted flakes. As she crunches through the first few bites, she’s surprised that she feels less heavy than she had when she’d gotten up. She certainly wasn’t happy, and thinking of the day she had ahead filled her with a potent mix of dread and grief. But there was also the simple kindness of a joke propped in a window, and it may not be much in the grand scheme of life, but it’s something. Waverly would take something.

* * *

 

When they got home that night, Wynonna came in only long enough to grab a couple of bottles from their liquor cupboard before she was gone again, out the front door without saying a word to Waverly. Which was fine. It had been a hell of a day, but Wynonna had been great. She’d been there for Waverly when the younger girl couldn’t hold it together anymore and needed a few minutes to cry and be held. She’d helped set up food and drinks in the reception hall, and she hadn’t lashed out at anyone, even though Waverly saw the thought occur to her once or twice. She’d been what Waverly needed all day, so now Waverly couldn’t begrudge her a night of being what she needed instead. 

Even if it meant that now Waverly was alone, and exhausted in every possible way. That was fine. She could deal with that.

What she couldn’t deal with was another minute in this dress. 

She ascended the stairs, tugging it over her head as she went (a potentially questionable decision that led to her tripping over the top stair). She threw the dress into a corner of her closet and started pulling open drawers. She was in the process of pulling on the softest pair of pajamas she could find when she heard a quiet knock followed immediately by the front door opening. 

“Waverly?” Nicole’s voice floated up the stairs. “Are you home?” 

Waverly smiled, just a little. “I’ll be right down,” she called. She glanced towards Nicole’s window, but even though she could see the outline of the whiteboard propped there, she couldn’t tell in the darkness if the message had been changed. 

Nicole was leaning against the arm of the couch when Waverly got downstairs. She pointed a thumb at the doorway and said, “So your sister just kicked me out of my house.” 

Waverly’s eyebrows drew together. “She what now?”

“Okay, kicked out may be too strong a phrase. She said something like ‘I need Dolls, and my sister needs company. I recommend for all of our sakes that you spend a few hours over there.’” 

“Oh, that’s… that’s just great.” Waverly sagged, feeling bad for Nicole. “I’m sorry, that was--”

But Nicole was already shaking her head. “It’s fine, I’m happy over here. As long as you’re happy with me over here?” 

Waverly nodded, and her guilt was at least temporarily eclipsed by a grateful warmth. She curled up in the corner of one couch, and Nicole slid back over the arm of the other until she was in something that at least resembled a comfortable sitting position. 

“So, when she said she  _ needs _ Dolls,” Nicole said. “Does that mean that I just got sexiled?” 

Waverly shrugged. “Maybe? Or maybe she just wanted to get massively drunk--”

“More drunk than any other night?” Nicole interrupted. Waverly glared at her, but Nicole just held her gaze. 

Waverly sighed and picked her next words carefully. “Today was not good, especially for Wynonna. She needs to deal with that, and however she does it, that’s fine. She’s a grown adult. She can make those decisions for herself.”

After a second, Nicole nodded. “That’s fair. But today couldn’t have been good for you either.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t.” 

“So why ‘especially Wynonna’?” 

Waverly considered. “It’s different for her. When I go home, I can still socialize with practically everyone. Purgatory’s not a big place, and I feel like everyone was a part of my life at some point or another. After my… um…” Waverly curbed the flow of words and frowned. “This is starting to approach long story territory.” 

Nicole relaxed into the couch. “I like stories.” 

So Waverly told her about their mother leaving when she was four, and their father dying in a drunk driving accident when she was six. She told her about Wynonna and their older sister Willa being in the car when it happened, and reacting very differently in the aftermath. She told her about moving in with Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis, who took all three of them in even though they weren’t even really their aunt and uncle. She told her about Willa isolating herself, moving out as soon as she was able and never looking back (though they had the occasional phone call or abrupt visit to let them know she was still alive). She told her about Wynonna acting out, getting into progressively more trouble until she was sent to juvie, and even though Aunt Gus thought she was too much trouble, Uncle Curtis never gave up on her.  

“So she was especially cut up about it because she was close with your uncle?” Nicole asked eventually.

“That’s part of it,” Waverly said. “But then there’s also the part where Wynonna pissed off pretty much everyone in Purgatory at one point or another. She didn’t really care what other people said or thought, so she crossed a lot of lines. Having to go back and deal with everyone again,” Waverly took a deep breath. “Well, I can see why she would need to blow off some steam.” 

“But it wasn’t like that for you?”

Waverly shook her head. “I was pretty young when it all happened. While Wynonna was sort of becoming the town pariah, I became the town darling. Everyone helped raise me. I didn’t even remember my mom, and my dad…” She dropped her eyes and shrugged. “Well, he was a drunk, and drunks don’t make for great dads. Plus, I was tiny. Wynonna was twelve, and Willa was thirteen. I could adapt, but it was harder for them.”  

For the last few minutes, Waverly had slowly become more aware of a dry throat. She figured that spilling your guts to someone might do that. She pushed herself off the couch and said, “Sorry, I’m a terrible host tonight. Can I get you anything? We have milk, tea, orange juice, and whatever Wynonna left in the alcohol cabinet.” 

“Y’all have an alcohol cabinet?” Nicole asked as Waverly pulled two glasses from a cupboard and filled one with tap water. 

“Yeah, that one over the fridge? It’s not good for a whole lot. My logic was that if you’re too drunk to get anything out from up there, you’re too drunk to have more anyway. I think Dolls has baking stuff up there or something.” 

“Waffle iron,” Nicole said, then gestured towards the glass. “I’ll just take water, thanks.” 

Waverly handed her the first glass and put the second under the tap. “So what about you,” she asked. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“One brother, younger,” Nicole said. “He’ll be finishing up high school this year. My mom’s a cop, and my dad does taxes.”

Waverly finished filling the second glass, and she turned off the tap. “And what brings you here?” she asked, leaning one hip against the counter. “You’re not at the school, are you?”

Nicole took a drink of her water, then said, “Nope. I just submitted my application to the police academy. I’d never really thought I’d be following in my mom’s footsteps, but…” She shrugged. “The older I got, the more right it seemed. There’s so many people who need help, and that’s what a police officer is supposed to do. My mom had to deal with a lot of the ‘good old boys’ mentality, but she’s always said that that’s all the more reason for her to be on the force. She’ll never be a part of that. It’s the people she cares about, not the promotions or the politics, and it makes her a better cop. About a year ago, I realized that she was right, that the system needed more people like that. So I guess that’s going to be me. Just trying to do some good in the world.” 

The silence lasted for a couple of seconds before Waverly realized she was staring. She dropped her eyes to her glass and sipped her water. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “That’s admirable. I’m sure you’ll be a great cop.” 

Nicole grinned and raised her glass. “Here’s to hoping. And that’s if I get in.” 

Waverly exhaled, and it sounded somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “If you put all that on your entrance essay, I doubt you’ll have much trouble getting in.” 

Nicole’s grin widened. They stood quietly for a moment, but then she said, “So, let me guess. In the next episode, the Doctor will be saving London?” 

Waverly felt a tension release that she hadn’t realized had built up. She relaxed with it and smiled. “Probably. There’s only one way to find out.” 

“Reading the summaries?” Nicole said, walking around the island and flopping back onto the couch. She grabbed the TV and Wii remotes, fiddling with them until the next episode was queued up. She looked over to Waverly, waiting until she was settled onto the couch before pressing play. 

They chatted a bit between episodes, and once or twice paused so that Nicole could ask a question or Waverly could point out character or actor crossovers. She introduced Nicole to Connections, a game that she and Wynonna played where one person presented two movies or TV shows, and the other person connected them via overlapping actors (It took Nicole half an episode, a sheet of paper, and liberal use of the internet to connect Ocean’s Eleven with Princess Bride. When it was Waverly’s turn, she laughed at the way Waverly described everyone in Love Actually by their character names from other movies). 

They somehow made it to three in the morning before they started fading. Nicole, at least, looked like she was falling asleep on the armrest. When the next episode ended, Waverly didn’t reach for the remote. 

“It’s late,” she said quietly, and Nicole’s eyes snapped open at the sound. She propped herself up on one arm, and Waverly continued, “I mean, I’m good. But I don’t want to keep you up past your bedtime.” 

“I’m good,” Nicole said, shifting into more of a sitting position and making an obvious effort to look alert. “I don’t want to disturb your sister. And I’m having fun.” 

Waverly waited a moment, thinking, and then suggested, “You could stay, if you wanted. I’ve got extra pillows and blankets, and we could just sleep on the couches.” 

“Mmm, I like it.” Nicole snuggled back into the couch. “I haven’t had a proper sleepover in a while. We should make popcorn and play Truth or Dare.” 

Something in Waverly fluttered at the idea of playing Truth or Dare with Nicole, but she kept her smile steady. “How about we make up the couches and start another episode, and if you’re still awake in twenty minutes we’ll talk.” 

“Sure, sure,” Nicole said, then had to hide a yawn behind one hand. 

It only took them a few minutes to drape the bedding over the couches, and Waverly even managed to find a spare toothbrush still in it’s wrapping for Nicole. She turned off the lights and turned down the volume when they started the next episode. The familiar voices and colors lulled her into a warm, quiet place. Every now and then, she would realize that she hadn’t caught the last few minutes of dialogue, and she would pull herself back towards awareness. The third time she did this, she peeked across the room. Nicole’s eyes were closed, and so Waverly gave it up. The next time sleep started pulling her under, she gave no fight. One of her last coherent thoughts was that staying up with someone until the dark hours of the morning was a pretty good test of friendship, and she thought that meant Nicole was now her friend. It was a happy thought, and it sent her off to sleep with a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I made everyone wait so long for this chapter. Even though it takes me forever to post on AO3, I post a new scene for this fic each week on tumblr (missizzybeth). I apparently can't make myself write more than one scene per week right now, so if the waiting bothers you, I suggest either finding me on tumblr or waiting until I've finished the fic to read. If it doesn't bother you, and you actually read this as it comes out, you're my hero. I don't think I could be that patient.


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